


Coming Home

by BewareTheIdes15



Series: Not A Verse [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Related, M/M, Oral Sex, Piercings, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:03:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BewareTheIdes15/pseuds/BewareTheIdes15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam waved his hand absently, trying to shoo off the dog, but instead of the scratchy paw he'd expected to feel begging for his attention, he got the hot, slick press of curved metal, trailed by the wet tickle of a strong tongue. Sam jolted upright, automatically shoving at the absent body of his assailant. Dean was crouched next to the bed, snickering openly as Sam wiped the spit off of his ear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually the first fic in this series - written as a one-off, so I apologize for any inconsistencies.

A too-early fall breeze cooled the air outside, making the leaves of the old beach tree outside of Sam's window rustle restlessly. Inside though, Sam's bedroom was filled with the humid-hot of a room closed up for too long through the summer swelter. It was enough to make his nose feel stuffy and he could only breathe out of one side with his face mushed into the pillow, but he was too tired to get up and open the window for fresher air.

He still felt the cling of recycled airplane oxygen on his skin, knew he needed to get up and take a shower or he'd feel really gross in the morning, but his bed felt really good after a whole day traveling back from his mom's place so instead he just floated in that phantom space between sleep and wakefulness until he felt a warm puff of breath against his ear.

Sam waved his hand absently, trying to shoo off the dog, but instead of the scratchy paw he'd expected to feel begging for his attention, he got the hot, slick press of curved metal, trailed by the wet tickle of a strong tongue. Sam jolted upright, automatically shoving at the absent body of his assailant. Dean was crouched next to the bed, snickering openly as Sam wiped the spit off of his ear.

"What the hell," Sam croaked, throat scratchy with sleep. Dean's grin widened until Sam was sure the older boy's jaw was going to crack, but instead he just opened that plush mouth of his, tongue lolling out to reveal two small metal beads shining on the flat of his tongue. Dean turned his head from side to side like he was modeling, still managing to smile even with his mouth wide open.

"You got your tongue pierced?" is the first thing that fell over Sam's lips and he wasn't sure if he was incredulous or impressed or creeped out - the idea of something going THROUGH his tongue made him reflexively scrape his own against the washboard roof of his mouth.

"No, dorkus, the piercing fairy came to visit me while you were gone," Dean glared, but there was more than a hint of the grin still lingering around his mouth.

"Shut up, jerk," Sam said, pulling himself up to a sitting position on the bed. The jeans he'd laid down in got tangled up in the sheets as he tried to make room for Dean to climb on the bed next to him.

"Bitch," Dean quipped naturally, rubbing his knuckles over the top of Sam's head. Sam grumblingly reached up to try and smooth out the already hopeless mop of his hair - his mom had begged him to get it cut while he was visiting.

The older boy settled back against the headboard with Sam, the bed too small for both of them - especially with Sam's ever broadening shoulders - to sit side by side without touching in a long, warm line. Dean smelled faintly of beer and a lingering hint of pot, so he must have been out with some of his friends. That explained why he hadn't stopped by as soon as Sam got home - he'd been more than half expecting it.

Despite the fact that they didn't talk at school - even though Sam had jumped ahead year in some of his subject so sometimes they shared a lass - or hang out much in public, there wasn't a doubt in Sam's mind that he was Dean's best friend. And vice versa.

It probably would have been a different story if Dean's mom hadn't gotten killed in that fire, or if Mr. Winchester hadn't totally lost his shit over it, if Sam's Dad hadn't offered them the little rental house on their property until his friend got back on his feet - or if Mr. Winchester had ever actually gotten back on his feet. But as it was, he and Dean had been together practically every day since Sam was 6 - had always had each other to talk to about the crap in their lives because they were really only separate lives in the technical sense - and so regardless of the fact that they had like, nothing in common, or what Sam's Dad called Dean's 'teenage rebellion' and Sam's unavoidable, crushing geekiness, they were closer than most brothers could ever dream of being.

Ugh, on second thought, Sam took that back, thinking of him and Dean being brothers was just way to creeptastic for words.

"Your dad let you do that?" He jerked his chin in the general direction of Dean's face. His neighbor shrugged, which meant 'no, but Dad didn't care either', which sounded about right for Mr. Winchester. Actually, knowing him, he probably hadn't even noticed that his son had a metal spike shoved through his tongue.

"Did it hurt?"

Dean shrugged again, this time meaning 'so bad I wanted to cry, but I'm not going to say that because I'm awesome and manly' - it probably said something deeply disturbing about their relationship that Sam could understand this whole conversation without Dean talking.

"Why'd you do it?" Sam was staring at Dean's mouth with a morbid fascination, cocking his head to the side like he could still see the shiny little studs hidden inside Dean's mouth.

"Ask Jessica Falgout," was all Dean had to say, leering. Sam rolled his eyes at the sheer predictability of it.

"Man whore."

"Yeah, you love me," Dean smirked, settling his hand easily on Sam's thigh.

At some point over the month Sam had been gone, Dean had apparently decided it would be cool to paint his fingernails black - not actually a bad idea since they were always covered in motor oil from his part-time slot at the garage anyway - but by now the paint was chipped up in odd patterns, revealing the pale pink nailbed underneath. Something inside of Sam twinged like guilt - thinking of Dean stuck here on his own all that time, all of the stuff he'd obviously gotten up to without Sam's voice of reason around to talk him out of it. He could have called, of course - not like Dean couldn't have asked Sam's dad for the number or anything - but they weren't like that, they were… they just were.

A cool sweep of air caressed Sam's neck and he turned his head to watch the sheer curtains his mom had picked out years ago dance in the breeze from the open window. It wasn't that Dean hadn't known where their spare key was for ten freakin' years, he just seemed to like coming in through Sam's window. Sam wasn't even sure if the lock worked anymore.

"You wanna touch it?" Dean murmured, voice deep and soft, tickling the peach-fuzzy hairs on Sam's earlobe. He turned his head slowly so they wouldn't conk heads.

"What?" he asked, caught, as he always was like this, in the mistake of looking at Dean's eyes too close up, getting lost in the constellations of green and gold. Dean rumbled a laugh and stuck his tongue out, metal glinting in the milky, too-bright light pouring in Sam's window from the streetlamp outside.

He glanced up at Dean again, asking for permission with his eyes and Dean just raised an eyebrow because seriously, Dean would probably have let Sam do the piercing himself if he'd wanted to. Dean was just like that.

Tentatively, Sam reached up, touching just the tip of his index finger to the body-warm metal. It was smooth and hard and Sam couldn't help but think of the times he'd gotten a bump on his tongue from eating too much salt and if that feeling made him crazy he didn't know how Dean standed having something that big to rub at all the time. If he moved it just a little bit, he could see the dark hole in shiny pink muscle, stretching a little with the light pressure. How the hell did he eat?

"Nihh eh," Dean's tongue flailed under the weight of Sam's finger as he tried to say… something.

"What?" Sam scrunched his forehead, realizing after Dean narrowed his eyes that he needed to take his finger out of Dean's mouth if he expected an answer.

Dean rolled his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the bottom side of the stud catching Sam;s gaze for a moment.

"I said, lick it," Dean urged, manic light in his eye. He edged in closer to Sam until they were sharing the same air and displayed his tongue again, the tip of it brushing Sam's lower lip.

Sam couldn't really make out much beyond a blur of Dean's eyelashes, but he was pretty sure this counted as consent anyway, so he hesitantly opened his mouth - the tip of Dean's tongue sliding into the trench between his lower lip and gums, tracing it softly, the way he knew made Sam squirm - and ran his tongue up the length of his friend's, pointed tip finding the little metal balls.

It was a strange feeling, too perfectly smooth, the almost-nothing tang of metal mixing with the taste of cheap beer and smoke in Dean's mouth, overlaying the indefinable flavor of Dean. Sam's tongue explored nimbly, curling around each of the studs individually, swiping gently at the little bars that extended down inside the muscle, teasing at the tiny space between the piercings where the nubbly texture of Dean's taste buds remained.

Dean made these cut off sounds in the back of his throat, the kind that usually woke the dog up and made him cause a racket - stupid dog didn't mind someone breaking into Sam's window, but freaked out about sex noises - and Sam pulled back enough to shush his friend, winding up with the end of Dean's tongue between his pursed lips and that seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up.

Dean being Dean, completely ignored the shushing as Sam sucked on the slick muscle of his tongue, studs bumping against his lips occasionally when he took it deeper.

"Shhh," Sam repeated leaning back enough to completely disentangle his mouth from Dean's. He was pretty sure his Dad already knew that something was up between them and just hadn't latched on to what yet; him walking in on them making out on Sam's bed was pretty much the last thing anybody needed.

"Dude, relax," the gripe was completely ruined by the whimper behind Dean's voice, "Bobby's not going to hear anything. Checked on him before I snuck in; sound asleep, man."

Labor-thickened fingers curled against Sam's jaw, pulling him forward into the press of Dean's lips. Dean's kisses weren't like anything else he did; it was all open and raw, held nothing back, like he just couldn't help himself and sometimes Sam wondered if he was like this with everyone or if it was something special just for Sam. His lips inched slowly off of Sam's mouth, down along the line of his jawbone.

"Missed you, baby," Dean whispered heatedly against Sam's ear, never faltering in the determined lick-kiss-suckle against every available inch of Sam's skin. "Missed you so much. You miss me?"

Sam muttered something like a 'yeah' too caught up in the little lightning-in-a-bottle zings set off by Dean's lips and teeth on thin skin, the warm, too-smoothness of the metal in his tongue. Dean's hands were like starved creatures on his body, scrabbling and scratching, looking for bare skin and marking it up with dull bruises and red-hot nail scratches wherever they found it. Sam had had to fake an interest in rock climbing to cover for the marks Dean was always leaving on him.

The older boy licked a stripe across Sam's bottom lip, studs dragging on the over-sensitized skin along the inside of his mouth.

"Wanna see what this is really good for?"

Dean's hands were tugging at Sam's jeans before he even finished the question, opening them enough for Sam's straining cock to press up, tenting his boxers obscenely. Dean wasted no time in pressing his lips - already swollen and flushed from the kissing - to the thin fabric covering Sam's dick, heat and pressure a tantalizing mix as they seeped through to needy flesh. The older boy mouthed up the length of Sam's cock, huffing out hot currents of air over it as he went, lighting Sam's nerves like a spark in a box of matches.

He was twitching uncontrollably by the time Dean licked over the sticky-wet splotch at the head, lolling his tongue out to massage Sam's slit through the cloth with those damn metal beads. That was just it, Sam was going to lose it and Dean could make fun of him all he wanted because holy shit, that was the hottest damn thing ever.

But instead of keeping it up for the few more seconds he needed Dean pulled back, sliding his painted fingertips under the elastic of Sam's underwear and shoving both them and the jeans down over Sam's hips. Sam's dick slapped flat to his belly, muscles clenching at the sudden pain/pleasure rush. Then Dean's mouth was there, pressing a wet, open kiss to the underside of the head and - oh, fuck! Those metal balls braced on either side of the sensitive bundle of nerves just below Sam's ridge, teasing and rubbing and working Sam into such a frenzy he didn't know when he'd gotten his hands on Dean's head but he was using them to press Dean down harder into the attempted buck of his hips. Sam really didn't want to know if his friend had been practicing this.

"Mmm, you like that Sammy?" Dean grinned as best he could with his tongue flicking through the slick mess at Sam's crown, one of the studs catching on the slit and it felt like it was going to slide right inside - nerve endings grinding to a fine powder all the way to the tips of Sam's fingers. "Knew you would." Dean drug his teeth ever so softly across the sensitive ridge and seriously, was he trying to make Sam come all over himself because it was damn well working.

"Dean, Dean please," he tried to keep his whimpering quiet, but it was kind of hard to gauge volume right now. Or, you know, breathe.

"You want this, baby?" Dean teased, licking Sam from base to tip in one long stroke and son of a fucking bitch, it was just two tiny pieces of metal, how could it possibly feel like that? Sam would have bet money he was going to crawl right out his skin.

"Yes, yeah. Please Dean, I want you to suck me. Please, need your mouth," Sam begged, because Dean liked it and because there wasn't a single word of it that wasn't the God's-honest truth.

"Hmm," Dean moaned his approval into a loose suckle at the head, "I know you do, Sammy. I know it." Then that molten, wet heat was sliding down, blood-rich lips stretched tight around Sam's aching cock, tongue worming around the girth of it to get everything slick and buzzing.

Dean didn't stop until his nose was buried in the wiry curls around Sam's base, throat muscles flexing experimentally around the head. If Sam made it two minutes it would be absolutely nothing short of a miracle.

Those fucking, FUCKING beads pressed hard into the vein along the underside as Dean's head bobbed and Sam's eyes clenched of their own volition, head thrown back as he shot like a bullet right to the edge of losing it. He realized his mistake in a time-delayed second, but Dean's teeth were already digging in, making Sam shove his hand between his teeth to keep from screaming. His eyes locked back on Dean's, annoyance tinting the sparkling green - which was totally unfair since Sam was the one who just got his damn dick bitten! Of course that would be a more persuasive argument if Sam's cock wasn't still so full it was twitching in time with his pulse.

Dean didn't just like to be watched, he insisted on it, wouldn't even bother finishing if Sam wasn't looking at him - even if Dean's own eyes were closed; the jerk swore he could feel it. Sometimes Sam wondered if - assuming he ever got to have sex with anyone else - his constant staring would freak his other lays out. Right now, though, he seriously didn't care.

Dean huffed a grunt like he was put out or something by Sam's totally reasonable reaction to the absolute cocksucking magic of Dean's mouth - and no, he was never going to admit that out loud - but started back up with the steady rhythm, cheeks hollowing on the upstroke.

His hands traveled up Sam's torso, digging the lacquered-black nails of one under Sam's t-shirt and scratching lines of sweet-hot pain that made Sam's abs bunch. The other hand tugged at Sam's fingers and he hadn't actually realized he still had his teeth clamped down on the meat of his own hand. He released it, his teeth marks searing with the returned flow of blood, and let Dean's thumb work it's way into his mouth all the way up to the webbing. Sam cupped the back of Dean's hand, holding it in place as he sucked Dean's thumb with all of the meticulous fervor his friend was showing Sam's cock.

Dean pulled off to lap at the head frantically, that little glint of metal catching in the light gain and Sam was struck with a sudden burning realization; what if it was for him? What if, secretly, Dean had gotten pierced for exactly this reason. It would be so like him, always trying to give more; always convinced Sam didn't love this enough, all evidence to the contrary.

He imagined Dean sitting in one of those leaned-back medical chairs like at a dentist’s office; shirtless - what? It's his imagination, he can have Dean shirtless if he wants - some faceless guy pressing a needle through Dean's tongue while his friend gripped the arms of the chair and thought of Sam. He imagined Dean, laid out on his bed - no trouble to imagine at all; he spent as much time in Dean's room as his own - tongue still swollen and achy, stripping his thick beautiful cock to the thought of doing this for Sam, fist moving faster and faster over the dark, touch-hungry flesh until -

Dean pulled off again, lips spit-shiny and red, and panted over the wet crown of Sam's throbbing dick, "Say it. Say it!"

Sam was right on the edge, balls tight against his body from thinking about Dean and feeling Dean and needing Dean and all it was going to take was that last little push to turn the brushfire in his veins into an inferno so he leaned his head back enough for Dean's thumb to pop out of his mouth and moaned "I love you".

Dean swallowed him down instantly, one flex of his throat muscles around Sam's head and all the breath got punched out of Sam's chest as he pumped thick heat down the tight channel of Dean's throat. Dean's thumb pushed back inside of Sam's mouth, to block the noise he was making - he might be shouting for all he knew; he was pretty sure he'd been stuck deaf - or maybe just because Dean liked it. Either way, Sam's mouth latched around it, licking it in time to the slowing throb-pulse of come.

Dean sucked him through the aftershocks, metal nub darting into his empty slit - razor-edged pleasure crashing along Sam's insides - one last time before he sat up, tearing at the fly of his own pants.

The second he'd worked his dick free - so red it was almost purple and leaking like a faucet - Dean rammed his body up against Sam's, cock slotting into the groove at Sam's hip. Sam moaned around the flesh in his mouth as Dean fucked against him rabidly, his friend's studded tongue diving out to flutter around the border where his digit disappeared into Sam's mouth like he was going to suck it right along with Sam.

It only took a handful of thrusts before the dry drag on Sam's hip ran slick and hot, Dean's mouth open on a series of quiet grunts against Sam's chin. His hips churned for a while after his cock stopped jerking against Sam's hip and Sam just let him, knowing without words that the smooth rhythm of it comforted Dean.

Finally the motion wound down to a barely perceptible rocking and Sam let his friend's thumb fall free, now-wrinkled pad pressing into his lower lip.

"Welcome home," Dean muttered from his hiding place in the crook of Sam's neck. He was licking at the skin absently, the pressure of metal a sharp reminder of what had just happened, and Sam figured pretty soon he'd be wearing a hickey right there as penance for the one's he'd missed over the last few of weeks.

Dean was probably going to sleep there - practically on freakin' top of Sam, and forget the airplane funk, Dean's come was going to feel mega-gross in the morning - but that shouldn't be too big a deal. Mr. Winchester honestly believed Dean's story about how he just got up really early most days and that's why he was never home when his father woke up. Sam's Dad hadn't come into Sam's room without at least a couple of minutes warning since that time he'd walked in on Sam jerking it - they'd barely managed to be in the same room with each other for a week after that.

Sam squirmed his hand free so Dean wasn't completely cutting off the circulation, bringing it around instead to rub that spot right behind Dean's ear that made his eyelashes flutter.

Honestly, this was the reason, more than anything else, that no matter how many times his mom asked him to move in with her and William - gag! - he was always going to turn her down. It had almost nothing to do with the house or dog or his stuff of school or even Dad, though those were all excuses he'd used, and a lot more than Sam would care to admit to do with Dean's bedroom, 76 yards southwest of his still-open window. This right here, this was home.


End file.
